


Autumnal

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Friendship, Leliana has murder on the mind, Smut, Violent Thoughts, but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: The Right Hand and the Left Hand were not ever likely to become friends. And yet, somehow, it happened.(Also, the second chapter is basically just sex. Leliana is not involved in that part. FYI.)This is sorta-kinda set in the same universe as "Wild, Wild Sing the Bird," but you don't need to have read that to understand this, aside from knowing that Cassandra and Josephine are in an established romantic and sexual relationship.





	1. The Right Hand and the Left Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with the intention of posting on or around the Autumnal Equinox, which did not happen. Thought it's still technically autumn, so I'm keeping the title. Hope you enjoy! The first chapter is about Cassandra and Leliana's friendship.

It was not often that Cassandra willingly left Josephine’s side in the evening, after their respective daily duties had ended, and Skyhold settled itself for the quietude of night. Josephine glanced up in mild surprise from where she sat, curled on the settee in her nightgown, going over some paperwork for tomorrow. Cassandra paused, satchel swinging from her shoulder, her hand on the door handle.

Josephine did not say anything, but she did not have to. She was more than observant enough, especially of people she cared about, to have an idea of where Cassandra was heading. Still — Cassandra did not like leaving, not when staying in would mean closeness, warmth, and retiring to bed together. Josephine looked so lovely and cozy, the firelight giving her an especial radiance, and there was just enough space on the settee for two….

Cassandra took a deep breath, reminding herself of her task. “I’m sorry,” she began.

“Not at all,” Josephine replied serenely. “I think I know where you are sneaking off to,” she continued, a small smile curving her lips. 

“I am not _sneaking_ ,” Cassandra said mock-plaintively.

“No indeed,” Josephine said, smiling expressively — it was already a joke between the two of them, how Cassandra managed to step heavily and crash into things when she was trying to be quiet in their shared quarters. (“It is because you save up most of your grace for the fields of battle,” Josephine once teased her, “with a little in reserve for lovemaking.” And this last said with a certain sly tone, a certain coy look, that drew Cassandra in, helplessly, every time… and, well, it was some time before either of them spoke, in words, after that.)

“I _am_ sorry,” Cassandra said again, and regret tinged her voice, “because I do not entirely wish to leave, and because I do not wish to disturb you upon my return, or interrupt your rest.” Josephine had, as always, been working rather more and sleeping rather less than Cassandra would like. She understood, of course, and often her own duties required the sacrifice of sleep or comfort or companionship. And Cassandra and Josephine were, of course, not the only ones toiling, burdened….

“Do no worry about that, my love,” Josephine told her. “You are so thoughtful. But you must go — if for no other reason than the sooner you are away, the sooner you may be back.”

Cassandra simply nodded, then stepped through the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her. She made her way swiftly through the keep, loping up the stairs to the library and then up to the rookery, encountering fewer and fewer people. Indeed, the rookery, the highest usable room in Skyhold, appeared to be deserted.

Cassandra, of course, knew (or very strongly suspected) it was not. 

She did not look around for Leliana, or call out to her, as she might have once done. When they were first Hands of the Divine, together, Cassandra had perhaps not entirely understood the new Left Hand. Tasked with preparing the ground for a restored Inquisition, working under Justinia (who was known to Leliana in ways that Cassandra had not even remotely understood at the time — Leliana had still often called her _Dorothea_ , for pity’s sake), _thrown_ together, really, after Beatrix’s passing. The previous Left Hand had been an efficient spy for the Divine, and she and Cassandra had worked well enough together… but Sister Leliana was altogether different. As was Justinia. Players of the Grand Game, both of them, subtle and dangerous and intimidating, but also (to Cassandra’s mind) willing to engage with frivolous and superficial matters, sometimes to the detriment of more pressing business.

Cassandra had since come to understand Leliana. Not perfectly, certainly. But Cassandra now deeply respected Leliana’s methods, even if she did not always _like_ the necessity of underhanded tactics. No, not “underhanded,” that was unfair. It was how she would have characterized the Left Hand’s methods years ago, when she had first started working with Leliana. The Left Hand struck from the shadows, but there was, Cassandra now knew, nothing inherently unscrupulous about such machinations, any more than there was anything inherently brutal about her own more direct methods. The roles of both Hands were, for better or for worse, always more ambiguous than Cassandra would have once believed.

Cassandra not only respected Leliana, she considered her a friend, after a fashion. And that was why she was here tonight, in the gloomy and draughty rookery, rather than in the warmth of the rooms she shared with Josephine.

Leliana was, Cassandra was reasonably certain, lurking somewhere in the rookery or in one of its adjacent rooms. Still, Cassandra did not look around for her or call out for her — long years of working in cooperation had taught Cassandra patience, especially when Leliana was in one of her moods. Any attempt to confront Leliana would be as foolish as trying to catch smoke on the wind. It was a lesson Cassandra had needed to re-learn many times, and it had taken many years before Cassandra understood the value of approaching Leliana on her own terms.

And so, instead of brusquely demanding that Leliana come out and explain why she had been noticeably withdrawn and restive for the last two days, Cassandra moved to one of the tables set about the place. This one was illuminated by the light of the waxing moon coming in through one of the high windows — somehow less gloomy than the sparse flickering torchlight of the rest of the space. Wordlessly, Cassandra seated herself, then retrieved from her satchel a sturdy ceramic jug and two earthenware cups. She worked the stopper out of the jug’s neck, then poured out dark, softly fizzing liquid into the two cups. Then she sat back, her own cup in hand, and waited.

When she was down to the dregs in her cup, Cassandra — perhaps a little more relaxed, with a bit of drink in her — said, not without humour, “If you do not wish for company, I certainly understand, and I will go when I have finished my cup. But you really ought to drink your own cup soon, or else it will go flat.”

There was no answer. Unconcerned, Cassandra finished her drink, and was about to stand to leave when a voice came from somewhere above: “If you’d brought wine, we wouldn’t have to worry about it going flat.”

Relaxing back into her seat, Cassandra allowed herself a small smirk. “Perhaps. But I did not wish to drink wine tonight. Some nights call for ale.”

“Lest we get above ourselves?” Leliana had silently slipped down from whatever perch she had alighted on in the rafters, and slid onto the seat opposite Cassandra. She took up the cup on the table before her. “Wine is the drink of royalty, after all. And ale is the ambrosia that nourishes the common people.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Orlesian nonsense,” she said. “Wine is common where fruit is common, and ale is common where grain is common.”

“Such wisdom,” Leliana said, the humour in her tone sounding thin and brittle to Cassandra’s ear. Still she took a long pull from her cup, then glanced at Cassandra. “This is…”

“Ferelden spiced ale, yes,” Cassandra said. “Do you like it?”   
“Very much,” Leliana replied, taking another sip. “But it is insidious, you know. The spices mask how strong a drink it is.”

“I will take that into consideration,” Cassandra said, “though you ought to have a care. I have been tasked with vengeance for a years-long grudge, you know. If you over-indulge, you will likely find your underpants nailed to Skyhold’s chantry-board.”

Leliana gave a small, startled laugh. “My my, Cassandra, such language! Have you been getting into this without me?”

“I have been off-duty for hours now,” Cassandra replied, “and perhaps I have already gone through a month’s rations of strong drink. Perhaps I am only here to escape Josephine’s wrath,” she added, trying to maintain the levity of the conversation. This was no small task for her — it was so easy for her to slip into unwonted seriousness, or mistake someone’s tone — but it was, Cassandra knew, an important step in this dance with Leliana.

When she had first met Leliana, Cassandra had gotten the same impression as did most people: this was a dangerous, subtle woman, driven and secretive. Over the years, Cassandra had gotten very good at identifying when Leliana’s mood was darker than normal, when she withdrew into herself… and often, during such moods, she would become cruel, shortsighted, cold-blooded. During these moods, Cassandra had learned, it was useless to respond bluntly, or push her to explain herself. Cassandra knew that it was important to alleviate such moods, partially because they resulted in bad decisions for the Chantry (and, now, for the Inquisition). But, more and more over the years, Cassandra found she wished to help alleviate these moods of Leliana’s because… because they showed that Leliana was suffering. And Leliana was, now, a friend as well as a colleague. And so Cassandra had, slowly, over recent years, learned to approach Leliana not with her usual bluntness, but with gentle deflecting humour, and with easy companionship.

Becoming close with Josephine had, among other things, given Cassandra ample opportunity to observe the ways in which one might be observant, responsive, kind, and witty. She would never be even close to mastering these skills, but she thought perhaps she was improving.

Seeming to echo Cassandra’s thought, Leliana said, “You are in a playful mood! Josephine certainly has a good effect on you.”

Cassandra smiled, entirely unfeigned. “Yes,” she agreed, simply.

“Hmm,” Leliana hummed, sipping again. “You know, Josephine was not always as charming as she is these days. When I first met her, she was as self-serious a young student as one ever hopes to meet.”

“Oh?” Cassandra asked, genuinely interested. She had heard this story before, of course, from Leliana as well as from Josephine (two rather different versions, Cassandra was aware). But it was, of course, gratifying and enjoyable to hear about Josephine. And… this was part of the dance, Cassandra knew. The evasion. The telling tales about other people, in which Leliana herself was either absent or a minor character. 

And so they sipped the spiced ale — it really was a pleasant drink, Cassandra thought — and Leliana told the tale of Josephine in Val Royeaux, struggling to make something of herself and to be taken seriously despite her youth and foreignness. Then there was the story of the Orlesian duke who crossed the Carta and lived to tell the tale. A story about the Antivan assassin Leliana knew from her adventuring days. Even Cassandra got caught up in it, the dance, and told Leliana of the time when she had found herself, as a Seeker trainee, unwittingly at the apex of a love triangle that had developed unbeknownst to herself.

The conversation was quiet, genial, occasionally hilarious. The ale ran low. The moonlight had moved on, and the torches guttered; it had become quite late. There was a lull in the conversation. Cassandra — by now rather tired, her head pleasantly and lightly whirling from the ale — carefully allowed the lull to linger and blossom between them. If it persisted, Cassandra would thank Leliana for a pleasant evening and take her leave, and Leliana’s mood would most likely be quite normal the next day.

Instead, Leliana took the lead, and the dance went in a different direction. There was a barely-perceptible shift in her posture as she leaned over her cup. “Two days ago,” she said, her tone as light as though she were about to regale Cassandra with another amusing story, “a caravan of traders arrived at Skyhold.” She paused. 

Cassandra emptied the last of the ale into Leliana’s cup, and sat back, saying nothing.

“One of the traders was once an associate of Marjolaine’s,” Leliana went on, the merest note of emotion tinging her light tone. “Someone I never knew myself, or even spoke to, that I recall. But he worked with her, closely, on at least a handful of her endeavours.” She lifted her cup, and stared into it without drinking. “I saw him in the yard, when they arrived. I know he camped there, with the others, under their wagon, for two nights. They left this morning.” She drained her cup in one long pull, then set down the cup with extraordinary care, holding it tightly with both hands. “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill him so much. I want to kill him still.”

Cassandra nodded. “I see,” she said, quietly, sympathetically. Cassandra had struggled with her own vengeance, and likely would in the future, though her nemeses were very different from Leliana’s. Then, “Do you regret it? That you let him go?”

Leliana was silent for long moments. Cassandra was tempted to say something — _You did the right thing, he was most likely innocent in the matters that wounded you, it was so long ago, he is not her_ — but of course she did not. Still, Leliana was silent. But something changed, perhaps in her breathing, or in her posture, or in her expression. Cassandra was not and never would be a subtle woman, but she knew Leliana well enough to sense what was needed. And so she awkwardly pulled her chair over without really standing up, settling right next to Leliana. Slowly, so that Leliana would have time to pull away if Cassandra had misjudged this, she reached toward Leliana’s hands that were still gripping her now-empty cup, and gently lifted her fingers off, one by one. Then they sat, still in silence, with Cassandra simply holding Leliana’s hands in hers. She could feel the calluses that were still there, although Leliana seldom had cause to draw a bow these days, the skin still thick with the memory of it.

Then, with a quiet exhale, Leliana slumped — not dramatically, just a slight easing of the tension with which she always held herself. Cassandra leaned forward and pulled the other woman into a clumsy but earnest embrace. Leliana’s arms came up, and she clasped Cassandra’s elbows as she laid her head on Cassandra’s shoulder. Cassandra felt Leliana’s breathing — three deep inhalations, three long exhalations — and then Leliana was pulling back, upright, her expression and posture settled and steady.

Cassandra leaned back. Leliana had not answered her question, and would not, but that did not entirely matter. The dance was complete. Whatever crisis Leliana had been undergoing would not leave her, of course, would still weigh on her, and Cassandra knew this intimately — no one became a Hand of the Divine who did not have her own share of burdens, who was not willing to take on many, many more — but this little interlude had successfully interrupted whatever dark spiral Leliana had been caught in. 

“Thank you for the ale,” Leliana said, “and the company. You ought to go back to your bed, and get some sleep while you still can. The dawn will come before you know it.”

“It always does,” Cassandra said; a trite sentiment, perhaps, but she _was_ tired, and the ale was still thrumming in her limbs. And Leliana smiled anyway, half teasing.

So the Right Hand took leave of the Left Hand, and made her way back through to keep, to the rooms she shared with her beloved. As she walked, her thoughts spiralled gently, sleepily, in her mind. The Left Hand strikes from the shadow, something Leliana was uniquely qualified to do from a lifetime of negotiating the Game, first as a pawn, then as a player. The Right hand raises the sword of the Divine, brilliant in the sunlight, something Cassandra’s own fiery passion drove her to do even as her duty commanded it. Both hands move for the Divine, for Andraste, for the Maker and the Chantry.

Brought together by faith and by duty; Cassandra could not imagine a more appropriate or desirable partnership than what existed between herself and Leliana as Hands of the Divine. Doing their disparate duties, they had found a kind of divine balance, both of them able to restrain and make useful their own chaotic natures.

As she came up to the door to the rooms she shared with Josephine, Cassandra thought — not for the first time, nor even the first time that day — that she was incredibly lucky to have found love, to have inadvertently stumbled into a relationship that brought a balance to her life that was about love and connection, not cold duty and bare survival. If only Leliana had something like that in her own life, if only her past had not hardened her heart toward the glorious vulnerability of loving another….

Idle thoughts, useless thoughts. At least Cassandra was able to reach out in friendship to Leliana. It was an odd friendship, perhaps, not like the boisterous camaraderie on display in the tavern, nor like the sisterly closeness of some female friendships. But it was enough that Cassandra could see, and effectively intervene, when Leliana was caught in the dark tangles of her history. It was enough.

Cassandra opened the door, and walked into the warmth and light beyond, leaving the darkness behind.


	2. The Hand and the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 98% self-indulgent smut, and I regret nothing.

Josephine was not in the sitting room as Cassandra entered it. She had, however, built up the fire and left an oil-lamp turned low, so that the room was still warm and there was more than enough light to see by.

Cassandra, moving carefully, banked the fire, then toed off her boots and undressed. Carrying her bundled clothing under one arm, she took up the lamp with the other hand and gently pushed open the door to the bedroom.

The bedroom fire was already banked, and the room was a little cooler, but Cassandra was able to see enough to set her clothing on a chair and make her way to the bed. Shivering a little, she set down the lamp next to the bed and snuffed it out entirely, then slipped under the covers. She tried to move as little as possible in order to get comfortable to sleep, but Josephine nevertheless stirred, murmuring, and rolled over to curl against Cassandra.

Josephine was very warm, and Cassandra, still chilled, could not contain a contented sigh as Josephine pressed herself closer. She was wearing a nightgown, but it had ridden up, and her bare legs twined with Cassandra’s. One of her hands, warm from sleep, slid over Cassandra’s belly and pulled her close; they settled so that Josephine lay nestled against Cassandra’s shoulder, cradled in the circle of Cassandra’s arms, their legs tangled. Cassandra tilted her head to place a kiss on the crown of Josephine’s head. Josephine’s body was so warm, soft, pressed so invitingly against Cassandra…. Desire stirred languidly in her centre, at odds with the heaviness of her limbs, her exhaustion.

“Hmm,” Josephine said, her voice rough from sleep. “Did it go well?”

“Go back to sleep,” Cassandra whispered.

Which had, of course, the opposite effect of the one intended. Josephine twisted so that she could look, in the gloom, at Cassandra. “I was not asleep,” she said, “not really. I wanted to see you when you returned. I would like to know if… if all is well.”

Sighing, Cassandra kissed Josephine’s forehead before answering. “I believe so,” she said. “Someone she once knew to be connected to Marjolaine passed through Skyhold recently.”

“Ah,” Josephine said, understanding immediately. “And she is… settled, once more?”

“Yes. I expect she will be her usual self tomorrow.”

“Good. Thank you, my love, for visiting her. I would do so myself, but… well. There are some things she seems not to wish to talk to me about.” Josephine sighed, her breasts shifting against Cassandra’s side.

“I think perhaps… she and I understand one another in specific ways,” Cassandra said thoughtfully, running her fingers gently along Josephine’s arm where it was draped over her waist.

“Yes. I know. I am very glad she has you, darling, that you are able to reach her when these moods strike her.”

“She is my friend,” Cassandra said, “which was not likely to happen, given our roles, but it did nonetheless. I think, perhaps, if Justinia had… but that is neither here nor there.” Pushing down the melancholy that suddenly gripped her, Cassandra shimmied a little, burrowing further under the covers, still holding Josephine.

“My love?” Josephine had picked up on the shift in Cassandra’s mood; she pushed herself up until she was looming over Cassandra; in the darkness, her face was indistinct, surround by the tendrils of her hair that had escaped the loose braid she wore at night. 

Cassandra closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her arms tightened around Josephine’s waist, pulling her close, holding her fast. She burrowed her face into the crook of Josephine’s neck and inhaled the warm sleepy scent of her. They lay like that for long moments; Cassandra felt as though she never wished to move, never wished to allow Josephine any further away from her. At that moment in time, closeness was an absolute driving necessity, like water, like air, like faith. Cassandra clung to the awareness of Josephine’s entire body pressed against hers, of her slow breathing, of the heartbeat that fluttered in her ribcage: every precious thing about her, close, close, close.

Then Josephine shifted, a little, as she lay atop Cassandra, to move her knee so that it was not pressing into Cassandra’s. Her thigh — bare where her nightgown had ridden up — slipped between Cassandra’s legs, skin against skin. Josephine gave a small gasp, then stilled her motion, waiting, inviting, allowing Cassandra to decide what she wanted.

Suddenly, Cassandra was no longer tired. Her deep desire for closeness blossomed into irresistible _need_. Tilting her head up, she kissed Josephine, thrilling at the softness of her mouth, its warmth. Cassandra shifted her body, rolling against Josephine, feeling her gorgeous, voluptuous thigh press so suddenly against the apex of Cassandra’s sex that she twitched, almost bucked, at the overwhelming sensation of it. She clasped Josephine’s waist tightly, pulling their bodies together, and shifted so that Josephine’s thigh was not pushing into her so directly, not yet, _not yet_ , and deepened their kiss, stroking her tongue into the heat of Josephine’s mouth.

Cassandra’s hands roamed over the deep rolling wave of Josephine’s back, pulling her closer, delighting in the contours of her body. Out of the formal corsetry of her professional attire, free even of the billowing fabric and lace of her casual house dresses, Josephine’s body was supple and soft, and Cassandra took endless pleasure in knowing this, in being allowed to look and touch and caress. Some days, she could barely look at Josephine in public, unable to rid her mind of the thought of _this_ , of touching the lavish curving form of Josephine’s torso, of caressing her shapely legs, of running her hands and mouth over the beautiful soft rise of her belly, of holding her breasts as they hung low and sensual, peaked with dark, exquisitely sensitive nipples….

Josephine’s kisses were a delight unto themselves, from the softly affectionate pecks Cassandra occasionally consented to even in public, to the warm and joyful kisses they shared (in private) upon reuniting after a time apart, to _this_ , this deep and arousing movement of tongues and lips and breath. To know Josephine’s mouth, her soft lips, the slick heat of her clever tongue, was thrilling. Cassandra sometimes thought she could reach the peak of her pleasure just from kissing Josephine, although she had not yet discovered in herself the restraint required to test this theory.

Cassandra tugged the hem of Josephine’s nightgown up, wanting more skin-to-skin contact. Josephine pulled back a little to allow the garment to be removed, but Cassandra, beyond rational thought, darted forward, capturing Josephine’s mouth once more, clasping her tightly, torn between wanting closeness, wanting kissing, and wanting the remove the last flimsy barrier between their bodies. Josephine, laughing a little around Cassandra’s mouth, indulged her for several more breathtaking kisses, then pulled back a little more firmly, shifting so that Cassandra could sit partly up to pull the nightgown up and off.

It was dark in the room — Cassandra could barely see Josephine, although she knew every lovely part of her body by memory. Tossing aside the nightgown, Cassandra lay back, pulling Josephine with her while also trying to pull the covers back up over her (it was chilly in the room, after all, and Josephine got cold easily). The feeling of Josephine’s velvet-soft skin, warm and undulating, all along Cassandra’s body pushed her to new heights of pleasure. Her hands swept up to the back of Josephine’s neck, pulling her in for a deep and insistent kiss, then fell lower, caressing the wide curves of her back, dipping into the deep curve at her waistline, smoothing up and over the glorious rise of her hip, then pressing with a firm grip into her opulent swell of her backside. Cassandra used the purchase on Josephine’s body to roll her own hips urgently up, caught up in desire like the waves of a wild sea, lifting her and tossing her helplessly.

Josephine manoeuvred herself up, breaking off their kissing, arching her back so that Cassandra could press her mouth to the warm tender skin of Josephine’s throat. Cassandra, hands still firmly gripping Josephine’s backside, urged her higher still, kissing and nipping at Josephine’s throat, her graceful collarbones, the soft skin of her décolletage — skin as soft as silk, run through with even softer silvery lines, more precious and beautiful than the finest brocade, which Cassandra could not see in the dark but which she now felt beneath her lips, her tongue. 

Cassandra pulled Josephine even further up, high enough that Josephine was able to brace herself with both hands on the headboard. Her beautiful breasts brushed against Cassandra’s face, the hardened nipples palpable though invisible, and Cassandra could not suppress a groan. Josephine’s breathing quickened, and she arched her back, pressing her breasts toward Cassandra, silently asking for her touch, her mouth. Cassandra pulled Josephine close, pressing her mouth to the smooth skin of her breasts, kissing, nuzzling. Josephine made high breathy noises, interspersed with endearments in Common and Antivan.

When Cassandra’s roving lips found Josephine’s nipple and gently closed around it, Josephine gasped. The arch of her back deepened, and she shifted her legs, opening them. Cassandra lifted her thigh, the one Josephine now straddled, and pressed it up into Josephine’s centre. Feeling how wet, how heated Josephine was, Cassandra groaned again around Josephine’s breast, and she began to move her thigh rhythmically, pushing gently but insistently into Josephine’s sex, holding her backside firmly, laving her breasts with her tongue.

It did not take long for Josephine to reach her climax, riding out her pleasure on Cassandra’s thigh. She shuddered, falling forward. Cassandra could feel her throbbing wetness on the skin of her thigh, evidence of Josephine’s pleasure, and felt an immense surge of love and joy. She gently eased Josephine down, clasping her tenderly about the waist, guiding Josephine’s head to rest on her shoulder. Cassandra tugged the covers back up, tucking them around Josephine, then lay back, pressing kisses to Josephine’s brows and eyelids and the bridge of her nose, stroking slow circles on the small of her back.

When Josephine stirred again, she pushed herself up to kiss Cassandra’s lips. “I love you,” she murmured between kisses, “you are _wonderful_ , my love, oh, how I adore you,” emphasizing each sweet statement with a sweeter kiss. Soon, the kisses deepened, became heated, with Josephine’s tongue sinuous against Cassandra’s, and Cassandra found herself once more undulating, rolling her hips, so aroused that her sex throbbed and her breasts ached as they brushed against Josephine’s.

As she writhed, Josephine shifted, pressing her broad thigh between Cassandra’s legs. Cassandra allowed her thighs to fall open, lifted and moved one of her legs aside, canted her hips up, and moaned as her sex pressed directly onto the top of Josephine’s thigh. She clasped Josephine to her, so close, so close, their bodies pressed together from their mouths to their toes. They kissed, kissed, kissed, tongues coiling, breaths slipping into each other’s mouths, lips sliding, swallowing the small noises of pleasure they both made. Cassandra rolled her hips up, pressing herself against Josephine just so, moving with an intense and controlled sway, urgent and passionate but not fast, not hurried. Cassandra was so close to her peak, so afire with passion and love, and knew it would not take much, not take much more, to push her over the edge.

When the edge came, Cassandra teetered at the brink for what seemed like long moments, stroking herself against Josephine’s thigh as slowly and relentlessly as the tide. Then she fell, she plummeted, she flew over the edge, her body arching into Josephine’s, her soft cry of pleasure lost in Josephine’s glorious mouth. She shook, blood surging, until the powerful waves receded, leaving her boneless, replete, lying beneath Josephine.

They lay for several minutes, sleep encroaching on Cassandra’s consciousness, enjoying the closeness, the delight of the aftermath of lovemaking. Soon enough, they disengaged their limbs and Josephine slid off Cassandra to lie beside her. With whispered words of love, they both settled to sleep.

Tomorrow, the sheets would need to be changed, and Cassandra’s bunched clothing shaken out, and there would be paperwork and meetings for Josephine, and training and strategizing for Cassandra… and there would be Leliana to speak to and check in with, and all the thousand other cares and responsibilities that made up a day at Skyhold. But for now, Cassandra drifted into slept, her body still humming with pleasure, relaxed, serene, pressed against the soft, warm form of Josephine, lost in love.


End file.
